Unless my transplant schedule changes again, Dear Readers, this may well be the last blog entry that you will see from me until March.
Simply reading the above paragraph strikes my heart with a bolt of fear—it seems like such a long journey! I don’t want to be hooked up to pumps 24/7. I could do without the oversized johnnies and their standard chest slits.
I crave independence.
Privacy (haven’t they seen enough of me? I’m taking paper tape with me and if they’re not using it, that chest slit is getting closed up).
Comfort.
A recording of Berkley snoring will rock me to sleep—which, for someone with medical-based PTSD—is nothing short of a miracle.
This transplant will not be easy. I intend, however, to make it better than the first one. If I feel well enough, I will attend online classes through the Leonard P. Zakim Center for Integrative Therapies and Healthy Living. The Zakim Center’s programs are offered through Dana-Farber and I am excited by the prospect of potentially participating!
Did someone say Qigong?
Meditation with Live Music?
Chair Yoga Flow?
There are other physical offerings that, with the approval of my doctor and physical therapist, I’ll be able to pursue. I’ll probably be limited to gentle movements…because this body isn’t getting any younger nor are the chemotherapies any kinder…. This gentler, more mindful approach will give me the opportunity to rest, and dare I say, heal?
Relaxation and giving myself permission to rest have always been quite difficult for me. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt whenever I nap or sit on the couch, binge watching a new television series. The guilt has also chipped away at the time I spend reading.
Somehow, Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl has released me from that feeling.
The book was suggested to me decades ago by a wonderful college professor. He has since passed away. When I first opened Frankl’s book, my immediate thought was, “I wish you were still here”. It was swiftly followed by, “why did I wait so long to get my hands on this book?”. It would have been amazing to listen to lectures about Frankl’s work and discuss it! Frankl’s book is both fascinating and heart-rending. It’s the sort of monograph that you can’t put down.
I can’t put down my own writing, although I will have to. With doctors and fellows rounding on me three times a day and vital checks every four hours, it’s impossible to accomplish much. Plus, on the transplant unit, EVERYTHING gets sanitized. I refuse to risk the longevity of my laptop and USB drives.
When I was in Middle School, I started writing my own fiction in the back of partially used notebooks. The time away from my laptop will, of course, limit my creativity, but I wrote in notebooks once, I can do it again. I have thus far packed one journal for my future goals (ideally noting reasonable steps to reach them), one journal for my experiences/thoughts regarding transplant, one large notebook for fiction as well as my daily prayer journal.
Keep praying.
Keep sending love and light.
“Jesus is Hope.”
This final statement, consisting of three light-up words, was perched atop the roof of a red-bricked building that I drove by on my way to the car dealership. Suby-Lou needed an oil change (can’t drive to Boston on old, insufficient oil!). The lighted message served as a reminder that hope, too, is as necessary in the journey forward as oil and four wheels are.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. I will miss you during this hiatus, but will continue sending prayers, love and light YOUR way. Take care and I will hopefully write to you again in March.
The sun was shining gently on October 6th, 2021. Little birds and bugs were waking up under its golden touch. A blue-winged moth was in the driveway, flitting from stone to crushed stone, catching my attention.
I am forever fascinated by moths, butterflies, birds—their presence is a reminder of His Wonderful and Varied Creation.
In many ways, I feel as though my life has shrunk into the size of the Blue Box pictured above. I’ve lost so much during the course of this cancer treatment. Energy. Strength. Clothes that used to fit. The smidge of self-confidence that I had left. I lost over an hour of my time this morning receiving a surprise unit of Platelets (which is why this post is a bit late).
There are, however, beautiful, broken pieces, within the Blue Box. They’re trying really hard to reunite, to heal, and form some semblance of normalcy.
Normalcy is difficult to hold on to, especially when your husband is facing yet another bariatric surgery. He had his first bariatric surgery in 2012 at 486 pounds. This procedure resulted in a weight loss that took him down to 248 pounds. Unfortunately, due to an internal hernia, another bariatric surgery is required to detangle his twisted intestines.
His goal, moving forward, is to “clean up” his diet, exercise and reach 225 pounds. It’s a healthy goal that I fully support, especially if it prevents future surgeries.
It is rare that I’m on the caregiver’s side of the bed instead of in it as the patient. I’d be lying if I said that this role change didn’t make me nervous. I worry about whether or not I have the skills to help with any discomfort, with knowing how to assist him post-procedure.
Early on in our relationship, I was warned that “big dogs don’t live long”. It was certainly a discouraging remark, but a reminder, all the same, that life is short.
We shouldn’t take a single moment of it for granted.
I struggle with moments of utter despair, PTSD nightmares, and more recently, dreams of my grandmother. I was receiving the Bone Marrow Transplant of 2017 when she passed away. I never had the opportunity to say good-bye. Maybe that loss—as well as that missed opportunity—is the source stirring up images of her. Thinking about her now, while awake, I want to cry. Yet, these memories might be intended as a source of comfort. Of love remembered. Of hope.
When I’m not paying attention to the present moment (which is often because I’ve been writing fiction—and it’s fun), something beautiful will sneak up on me. For instance, I will not be receiving any further Lumbar Punctures! Unless there are symptoms of yet another relapse, I am Lumbar Puncture free. Both my lumbar spine and my mental health are thankful for this blessing.
I’m grateful, too, for the last of the flowers. There’s something romantic about this final bouquet:
Not pictured, but destined to appear in Birchwood, are the Michaelmas Daisies growing in the Pool Hole. I originally thought that these blooms were thistle. But, no, these purple-petaled flowers are as magical as the white Toadstools growing alongside the edge of the pit.
The pups and I indulge in the magic of Halloween movies every year. There’s something comforting about watching children’s movies with my Luna and Berkley. They snuggled up tight to me as Marnie (a young witch) visited HalloweenTown during the infamous Gray Spell.
The space between them was my spot!
Even if our pups nap during the film, their interest in what has become our Halloween tradition, fills me with hope—as did the Blue Box from Be the Match. A journal, a pen, as well as some research information, filled the small package. What more could a writer ask for?
Maybe some volunteer readers? If you have the time to read, please share your email address with me and I will crowd your inbox with the first 10-pages of Greenwood. Imagine you’re an editor and suggest cuts and grammar corrections. It has taken decades to create this piece, to edit it, but I’m finally ready to share it more widely. Although I am aware that it still needs work, I’m proud of it, on some level.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. You ARE HOPE, LOVE and COMFORT to me. I am sending love and light your way.
With Gratitude & Love,
Laura
Resources for the Curious:
Originally available in 1998, the first installment of HalloweenTown can presently be found on Disney+. If you need to laugh, but want to watch something that corresponds to the season, look no further than HalloweenTown.
I had an appointment in Boston on Wednesday, 9/1/2021 at 2:30 for labs and 3pm for a consult. My husband and I were both dreading what their advice might be. There we were, speaking with one of the experts on Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and Bone Marrow Transplants (as we had in 2017), but this relapse—this third one—has felt more dire. More critical. Mere inches from Death’s drafty doorstep.
Fortunately, we also walked into that consult with full bellies and full hearts from our brief stay in New Haven, Connecticut. I’m in love with New Haven! When I was in college, Augustana’s “Boston” was one of my favorite songs. I have no legal rights to these lyrics, but they would compel me to look further than my own front door toward a very different future:
“She said I think I’ll go to Boston
I think I’ll start a new life
I think I’ll start over
Where no one knows my name….”
Thing is, my name is known in Boston now (Bone Marrow Transplant 2017 and subsequent follow-up care). I guess, if I continue to treasure these lyrics, I’ll have to make a ‘a new life’ somewhere else.
New Haven, Connecticut seems like a strong candidate. It had this relaxing, yet adventurous vibration while we were there. The ability to walk wherever we needed to go was a lovely change. As the sun disappeared, the twilight sky shifted to rose-gold. Outdoor eateries bustled with people and tall planters to both aesthetically and safely separate patrons. Several establishments required us to show our COVID Vaccine cards.
The sidewalks were also busy with restaurant music, and the sound of loud engines (namely a black Impreza) and motorcycles echoing off of brick buildings. Couples strolled around the sidewalks, too, stepping over the cement imprints of maple and oak leaves found there.
Autumn, as well as the college students, was moving into the neighborhood.
Our night-time excursion ended with a Bubble Ice Cream Cone. It was sweet and chilly—staining my hands a happy shade of turquoise-blue.
The next morning, we visited Atticus’. Doubling as a book store and a coffee shop; I was immediately delighted by the atmosphere. It was sprinkling outside, and the shop’s windows were fogged up with moisture, but added a degree of mystery, enchantment to the colorful shop. We sat near the fiction section, which is where I devoured the perfectly chia pudding. I tried to re-plicate the recipe at home…I have some more experimentation to do….
While my husband finished his breakfast, I took a peek at the books. I didn’t recognize many of them; a clear indication that I need to find my way back to the literary world.
Upon closer inspection, however, I realized that I already owned several of the tomes. I had marked some of them as donations to a local, used bookstore. Some of the books, however, were still on my shelves. Should I keep them? I mean, after all, they were good enough for Yale’s students to read. Maybe I should give these books that, after ten years or so of waiting, another chance?
It only took a couple of hours to make it to Dana-Faber Cancer Institute (DFCI). Although I had been outfitted with a PICC-line in my left arm, DFCI didn’t have the correct documentation to use it. SEVEN vials of blood were drawn from my last good vein, “Old Faithful”. I was so proud of this seemingly little accomplishment.
During the consult, a tentative plan was laid out before us. I would receive up to 6 more cycles of Immunotherapy in Vermont. Eventually, my original donor (the most wonderful woman in the world) will add her Lymphocytes to this consolidative/preventive approach. It’s graded; every 6 weeks or so I will need to go to Boston for Donor Lymphocyte Infusion.
To have a plan is beautiful. It’s progress. It’s also excruciating waiting for it to be enacted.
What do you do in such circumstance? You do as the card at the beginning of this post instructs, “surround yourself with all happy things”.
We spent that night at Westin, a modern hotel fitted with two escalators and its own bar. The dining room hosted an incredible breakfast. I choose to feast on the Challah French toast (mostly because it was something that would be difficult to find where we live).
We drove to north Boston, where we walked a bit of the Freedom Trail, stopping to admire the Old North Church and Paul Revere’s Monument:
The Old North ChurchUnsure of what kind of flower this is, but it was in the same courtyard as Paul Revere’s Monument“The British are coming!”
We visited Little Italy, purchasing cannoli from pastry rivals, Mike’s and then from Modern Pastry.
Our next stop on our return home was Ocean House Hotel at Bass Rocks. Still located in Massachusetts, we strolled along a sandy beach. I should have gathered some of the pearlescent, purple and white seashells.
I believe, however, that the happy memories that we created are more priceless…and needed for cloudy days than seashells, which, once collected, are destined for dust on a shelf.
We had our own 2nd floor balcony and an incomparable view of the ocean at Ocean House.
Due to the hurricane off-shore, giant white-capped waves hit the rocks continuously. There was a paved path the along road and we walked down it a couple times to see what there was to see. Rose of Sharon, in both fuchsia and white, filled in the cracks between the great stones. Little birds perched in the tall grasses and sumac.
There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number—living things both large and small.
Psalm 105: 25 (NIV)
With a pinch of bravery and stupidity, we climbed out on stones to get better views of the ocean. What an adventure! Seagulls, of the white and fledgling-brown variety were our constant companions, appearing out of nowhere, or so it seemed.
We went to breakfast at a charming greasy spoon diner. Dark roast coffee, after a few mornings of hotel room medium blends, was delightful! I was so enchanted by the coffee, that I can’t recall what I ate for breakfast….
Whale-watching commenced at 8:30am. As instructed by the crew, we could see the whales’ green fins rising in the waters.
Boston on the horizon…
Whenever one of the great mammals surfaced, it was breathtaking and an opportunity to take note of their unique under-the-tail markings. These white and black patterns help conservationists and researchers identify our larger brethren from each other.
Our final stop was BAM (Books-A-Million). I’ve had my eye on BAM since 2017 when I was receiving my Bone Marrow Transplant in Boston but couldn’t go adventuring. Everything I’d hoped to see was there! I took note of the trends, drooled over the hard covers and noted how cute the pocket books were. And the mugs! I have an addiction to coffee mugs. It’s almost as strong as my addiction to caffeine itself.
I know I’ve written about cardinals in the past, but maybe not the two females I observed this morning. Amid the ruin of the Pool Hole, these two gracefully attired ladies gathered their breakfasts. Their muted scarlet frocks accentuated the bouquet of dark purple thistle that has taken root there.
It may seem pointless to gather glimpses of birds and newly cut fields at twilight, but then, there are these days that require me to summon strength:
Post-Port Procedure. Thank God for my non-biological sister who took me to the appointment.
Now, there has been some puppy-dreaming going on between these four walls. I’m not in a position to take on the challenge of a puppy, but I long for the opportunity to scoop someone up and shower him or her with pets. I long to be someone’s favorite again.
We have two beautiful pups that could never be replaced:
I miss my Alderaan, though. I miss him forcing me to share computer chairs and yoga mats. If I knew when I could take him back, I would create a countdown on a calendar.
After living with two other felines since June, I’d also look for a big, fat companion for him. Or a kitten…time will tell if he gets a younger or older sister.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today…for your continued kind thoughts and prayers. You, too, strengthen me on the tough days. Until the next time I post, take good care and know that you are loved.
With Gratitude and Love,
Laura
Resources for the Curious:
The card pictured in this entry is from Hallmark: good mail card. It sparkles, featuring artwork by Marenthe Otten, Courtesy of Little Rogers Studio. Studio INK was also involved in its production.
Augustana, the band, to the best of my knowledge, dissolved in 2011.
Psalm 105:25 was extracted from the New International Version of the Bible.
On Tuesday (7/7/2020) of this past week, I posted this on Facebook:
On this day, ten years ago, I was told (for the first time) that I had cancer. Unlike my previous cancerversaries, this one has been exceptionally emotional. I feel as though I have been on a rollercoaster ride all day – I have felt gratitude for this life, for outliving my original expiration date, but also, a tremendous amount of grief, survivor’s guilt, and fear. There’s simply too much in my head and in my heart to describe here.
10 years.
So, I will quote Desiderata, as I do every July 7th:
“Be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe.
No less than the trees and the stars;
You have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”
Thank you, so much, for all of the prayers, love and light that you have given to me throughout this past decade. There are no words for just how much I appreciate all of you.
My head and my heart really were spinning. In the past, I had celebrated my cancerversaries with cake (preferably cakes with rainbow sprinkles on top of them). This one, I didn’t. I didn’t have the heart to celebrate…which I still can’t explain, even to myself.
Last Wednesday, July 8th, 2020, I was more at peace with it all. The rollercoaster ride had ended and I was settled. Grounded in the present moment. This, too, mirrored how I felt ten years ago; on 7/8/2010, I was at peace. Complete and utter peace with my diagnosis. I firmly believed that whatever happened to me, was God’s will. It was His plan.
I know now, that that’s called, “shock”.
Despite the description of how I felt as being, “shock”, I prefer to think of it as peace, as comfort, and as assurance of His presence. I’m going to be stubborn about this one; say “shock” and I’m going to say “serenity”.
My Facebook post was met with a tremendous wave of love and good wishes. It was humbling and comforting. I couldn’t ask for better family and friends. The support was exactly what I needed to recover from a day spent sobbing (on both sides of the shower curtain). I also received some lovely, invaluable advice—which I plan to utilize.
One Facebook friend described her coping mechanism as doing what she loves, as much as she can.
What do I love to do?
Write. Read. Spend time with these furry babies:
Spending time in the garden is another hobby that brings me joy.
Flower on the green bean plant!
The perennial flower mix that I planted
It’s a miracle that most of everything is still alive (let’s not talk about the pepper plants that my dad gave me or the Bachelor Buttons that I tried to transplant). It has been a privilege to watch my pea plants flower and produce pods.
And, then, there’s this curiosity:
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
I’ve never witnessed an onion going to seed before! There’s something beautiful about it.
Another element of life that I thoroughly enjoy is being artsy. My latest project involved capturing our fur babies’ paw prints in salt dough.
I’m not quite finished with this project; they need another coat of white paint and some detailing in either blue or black.
It’s a small thing, but it is a keepsake that I am sure we will treasure for the rest of our lives.
Echoing the above sentiment, is the gift box that my mom gave me (along with the gift inside of it) for my most recent birthday. The top of the box reads, “Enjoy the little things…for one day you will look back and realize they were the big things”. I don’t know who to attribute this quote to, but I feel as though it is of the utmost importance to embrace.
This “little thing” was stretching up alongside the raised bed garden, probably sniffing at the lettuce, kale and carrots. She’s still too small to hop up into it (which, of course, is a good thing).
Although I suspect that Tiny (pictured above – can you see her white tail?) is the one responsible for the destruction of the Johnny Jumps, I can’t help but feel blessed every time I see her.
Perhaps celebration wasn’t something that I could do on July 7th, but today, I feel ready to count all of the remarkable blessings that I have been given.
En (one) – renewed faith
To (two) – my husband, our fur babies, as well as my family, both biological and married into
Tre (three) – the friends that I have made along the way
Fire (four) – the gift of continued learning (including Norwegian and the classes that I will be taking to become a professional medical coder)
Fem (five) – the gift of the five senses, so that I can see, hear, smell, taste, touch all of the God-given wonders of this life
Seks (six) – simply being alive!
Sju (seven) – my readers, who encourage me to keep writing, even when it’s difficult.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. You are a treasure to me. I am sending prayers, love and light your way.
With Love & Gratitude,
Laura
Resources for the Curious
“Desiderata” is, in actuality, much longer than the segment that I shared on Facebook. It’s an inspiring poem by Max Ehrmann and is absolutely worth Googling!
Earlier last week—before the heat wave—we had our windows on the first floor open, creating a cross breeze. Bird song filtered in through the screens. The wind chimes, on the front porch, played a whimsical tune.
It was inspiring.
Peaceful.
Restorative.
It was the kind of morning that lends itself to sitting on the back porch and listening to the world awaken. A red-winged black bird flew overhead, singing check, as is described by Cornell University’s TheCornellLab. A petite moth, wings whispering of pale blue, flitted by the back door.
It was from this vantage point that I noticed a couple of dandelions—gone to white, feathery seed—standing alongside the dark leaves of a Burberry bush.
I found the contrast to be magical, and, of course, fodder for fiction.
And, then, there is the lonesome call of a rather leggy mourning dove, welcoming the twilight at the end of each day. Perhaps a youngster, he sits atop the garage’s chimney, cooing.
Not everything last week was calm. Fun, in this house, tends to get a little loud.
Inspired by David Portnoy, founder of Barstool Sports, my husband bought thirteen different frozen pizzas. Typically, Portnoy visits pizza parlors in whichever city he is in, sampling fresh pies. His slogan, “One bite, everybody knows the rules” is now a staple in our home. Due to COVID-19, Portnoy had to transition to tasting and scoring frozen pizzas.
A decent score on Barstool Sports’ scale (1-10, never whole/even numbers), can increase sales. Recognizing this, companies began to ship frozen pizzas (and other complimentary merchandise) to Portnoy to sample. The man is THAT influential. One good word, and he can make a small company flourish and websites crash (from his fans, who do not blush at his language, rushing to place online orders).
Back to our frozen pizza. Sampling several frozen pizzas was something that we could replicate for ourselves. Thus, the hubs purchased Celeste, Newman’s Own, Red Baron, PICS, Wild Mike’s, Stouffers, Tostitos, Elios, Digiorno (deep dish and rising crust) as well as a few others.
All thirteen pizzas were baked and sliced. A friend joined us for this pizza extravaganza. We sampled, “just one bite”, of each pizza. The conversation surrounding every bite was humorous.
“The sauce tastes like ketchup.”
“It’s stuck on the back of my teeth—like melted plastic.”
“The crust is too bready.”
We were so full by the end of the taste-test! The top scoring pizza was Red Baron (my husband’s favorite and, yes, the results were probably rigged) with a 6.5. My own favorite frozen pizza—goat cheese pizza—was not represented. It’s not the easiest pizza to find, nor do I know the name of the brand that produces it, but it is lovely!
Needless to say, our refrigerator was well-stocked, over-flowing, with pizza for DAYS.
My raised garden bed is full, too—with bright green seedlings!
There’s something breathtaking about watching green shoots poke their way through the earth, reaching for the sky, for the sun.
My lettuce and kale seedlings came up first, followed quickly by a perennial flower mix.
The carrots, poppies and zinnias are now represented in the raised bed as well.
It is at this point in sowing seeds, that I ran out of room.
What does one do with extra seed packets? Container garden!
There are various flower pots scattered around our lawn. Three of them were the containers that last summer’s Crimson Maple saplings came in. Now, they’re home to Serrano peppers (someday, maybe, they’ll sprout?), my gladiola bulbs and, finally, Shasta daisies.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
In late April we pulled two Burberry bushes from the front yard (using the Ram and a heavy-duty metal chain). Now, filling one of these vacancies are sunflower sprouts!
From muted-colored marbles to sprouted seeds, my peas are coming up:
The peas are actually much bigger now; they really ‘popped up’ after the heat wave.
The beans have made their presence known, too:
The beans grew exponentially, after the heat wave, as well.
And, while it might be awhile before my marigolds germinate, the petunias have popped through the soil of their hanging basket!
My rows of lavender, like the marigolds, will require some time to germinate. I am, however, still fascinated by their turquoise seeds.
I am in awe, too, of all of the wildflowers growing in our yard. The Pool Hole (not only the birds’ favorite dining spot) also harbors a flowering plant that I can’t identify. The flowers on this plant close during the day, forming bell-like shapes. At dusk, they open revealing white stars.
Their image is, in some ways, reminiscent of the poetic language of Song of Songs 2:11-13:
See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
– As written in the New International Version of the Holy Bible
The other wildflower that has me spellbound is bright yellow and resembles a buttercup. I believe, however, that because the stalk has so many leaves, it’s not my Great-grandmother’s favorite bloom.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Although not a vine—nor wild—when the wind blows in a particular direction, it carries the intoxicating scent of the neighbors’ lilac bushes. Johnny Jump-Ups, undoubtedly descended from yesteryear’s hanging baskets, display vivid color in the odd nooks and crannies of our front lawn:
Johnny is often accompanied by a shy, wild violet that is as profuse as it is elegant.
So much beauty, so much to learn from watching a seed transform into a plant, and so much pizza! Life is good, when we focus on the positive. And, I am so very thankful to still be here, to be able to soak up every moment and every bite of it.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for checking back in this week. I hope the days ahead bring you fair weather and fun. Plant something! Watch it grow! Eat a tremendous amount of pizza! I am sending prayers, love and light your way.
How would you define the word? When/how do you experience it? Do you find joy in your everyday life?
Joy is certainly part of the recipe for a happy, healthy life…and, yet, somehow…I’ve left it out.
Thankfully, while “attending” the virtual version of The Stowe Weekend of Hope (SWOH), I was reminded of just how important joy is. Usually held in beautiful Stowe, Vermont, SWOH went virtual this year due to the coronavirus. There were workshops via Facebook Live, YouTube, on specific websites and Zoom.
“Radical Remission” was one such workshop.
Led by Kristi Cromwell, the workshop explained the work of Dr. Kelly Turner—the researcher behind “Radical Remission”. As a certified Radical Remission instructor and coach, Kristi was able to share the 10 Healing Elements comprising “Radical Remission”. The element that resonated most with me, was Increasing Positive Emotions, specifically joy.
It triggered something within me—starting a short-lived existential crisis, even. Did I know what joy was? When was the last time that I had experienced it? I know I felt it at our wedding, but was joy part of my day-to-day?
Kristi challenged workshop participants to think about what would bring more joy to their lives. According to Cromwell, just 10-minutes of joy a day can make a difference in one’s health. She also suggested starting small and eventually building upwards in terms of time.
Starting small seemed like a wise idea to me…but what was I supposed to start with? What brought me joy?
The answer to this question came to me while participating in Happy Brain Life’s “10 Days of Calm and Creativity” program via Facebook. In this journaling program, Liz Wiegardt focused on assisting Heart Centered women. She shared ways to increase calm during these precarious times as well as express creativity. I loved every minute of it! Liz holds a Masters in Counseling Psychology as well as a Certificate in Applied Neuroscience and Brain Health. She is well-educated in these areas. And, and, she is a great public-speaker!
It was one of Liz’s journal prompts that helped me find my “joy”. On Day 4 of the program, as a creativity prompt, she asked participants to “connect with music today…listen to your favorite song and dance!”.
Music? Dance? I had flashbacks of my teenage years.
Every morning, when I was getting ready for school, my CD player would be set to a ridiculously high volume. One of the bands that I played on repeat was a Christian rock band, Audio Adrenaline (audioa).
Somehow, as I grew older, I left the band behind. It wasn’t until earlier this year (pre-COVID), that I came across two of their albums at my parents’ house: Hit Parade and Worldwide. On a whim, I brought them home…and started listening again.
While teenage Laura was addicted to drums and electric guitar riffs, adult Laura is in love with the lyrics. I spend more time in the Bible these days, and, as such, I can now identify the scripture that may or may not have influenced these songs.
The songs, altogether, mean more to me now.
They inspire faith.
And, on Day 4 of the “10 Days of Calm and Creativity”, they inspired JOY.
In response to Liz’s prompt, I listened and danced to audioa’s “Underdog”. THIS—dancing as poorly and awkwardly as I do—is my JOY.
It’s freeing and fun!
I am still finding joy in the fusion of music and dance. Currently, I am hooked on audioa’s song, “Big House”:
Come and go with me
To my Father’s house
Come and go with me
To my Father’s House
It’s a big, big house
With lots and lots of room
A big, big table
With lots and lots of food
A big, big yard
Where we can play football
A big, big house
It’s my Father’s House
– Audio Adrenaline, “Big House” from their 1993 album, Don’t Censor Me.
This song—which makes me smile—also encourages me to contemplate John 14:2-3, in which Jesus says:
My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
– As written in the the New International Version of the Holy Bible
How awesome are these verses?! An eternal home, prepared just for you and me.
Finding joy in music and in my poor dance skills, has helped me to identify it elsewhere.
I love writing. It is my creative project of choice. I’m approximately a quarter of the way through “converting” an old manuscript. And, yes, I do mean “converting” in the sense of changing the manuscript to Christian Fiction. Sure, it’s unpaid work. I believe, however, that writing is like planting a garden. You place the seeds in the soil, water and weed, and have faith that they will grow—that your efforts will yield a bountiful crop.
I hope, Dear Readers, that you, too, find some joy today and every day.
Thank you, once again, for your presence here. Of Pieridae and Perras would not be the same without you. I would not be where I am (alive) without you and your prayers. Stay safe! Stay healthy! I am sending light, love and prayers your way.
I am aware that hiding from it is impossible. I am reminded of this every time that my husband returns home from his shift at the hospital. Despite the fact that he has changed and showered at work, I immediately sanitize everything that he touches. Because this is real…and terrifying.
I cried this morning.
Dear Readers, I need a break.
I need an opportunity to think, and write, about other subjects…so, here it is…eclectic moments from the past few weeks.
Gunpowder & Geese
It happened the last weekend in March.
I became a card-carrying member of a remote shooting range!
Do I like guns? I’m…well…still wary of them, even after my husband walked me through all of the safety precautions and procedures.
Am I a hunter? Absolutely not, and neither do I have any desire to become one.
Yet, in these “uncertain times”, with reports of shady characters lurking around residential areas, knowing how to handle a gun is probably not a bad skill to have.
I do hope, however, that it’s a skill that I will never have to use.
The day after we spent time at the shooting range, I could hear geese flying overhead. Flying North, flying home.
Healing & Hawks
Surprisingly, this time of forced “social distancing” and “isolation”, has gifted me with the time and the space to work on healing old wounds.
I am spending more and more time in the Bible and contemplating devotionals. I’ve been praying more. Singing more. I am in awe of this promise:
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
– Isaiah 41:10, as written in the New International Version of the Holy Bible
I’ve even been taking the occasional nap—something that those who know me well, know that I never do! I’m trying to listen to my body more. Trying to give it the time and the rest that it needs when I’ve pushed myself too far and too hard.
It was after one of these naps that I looked outside, and saw these guys across the road:
At first glance, these two birds looked like plump, Bantam hens. But they’re not! If I hadn’t watched one of them circle before landing, I would have had no clue that they were hawks.
I said a quiet prayer of gratitude that Alderaan isn’t an outside cat. These two bruisers could easily carry my 11.5-pound boy away.
Stories & Starlings
I stopped writing fiction nearly 8-months ago.
I was discouraged. Defeated. I had two unpublished novels just taking up space on various USB drives. I began to think that I wasn’t good enough, that my ideas were sub-par.
Then, I thought that maybe I was writing in the wrong genre…and began to research my options.
I needed a friendly nudge—permission, really—to write again.
That nudge came late last week when my Bone Marrow Donor and I were talking via a video call. Not only has this incredible woman given me a second chance at life, she’s given me the inspiration to start writing again.
This time, though, with all of the research that I’ve conducted, I will be taking the plunge into Christian Fiction. No, my chances of publication aren’t any better in the Christian market than they were in the Secular market. The Christian market has its own set of unique standards and criteria that will not be easy to meet.
Yet, I feel as though this is where I belong.
Perspective counts for so very much….
I audibly groaned when the starlings returned to our backyard in early March. I didn’t like them (not a Christian-like sentiment, right?). They’re mean birds, after all. And, their idea of singing is screeching! In some locales, starlings are considered to be an invasive species, as they reproduce in overwhelming numbers.
One day, I counted two-dozen starlings in the bare arms of our deciduous trees! Based solely on the cacophony echoing through our backyard, I’m fairly certain that there were quite a few more hiding out in the hedges.
Honestly, I didn’t like them.
There have been mornings in which I would have preferred a flock of Blue Jays’, and their piercing squawks, over the starlings’ shrill screams.
And, then, my perspective changed. I happened to see the starlings’ dark silhouettes against a twilight sky…and again against a cloudy sky…they were suddenly magical. Beautiful.
Well, Dear Readers, as you have witnessed, COVID-19 found multiple ways to sneak into this blog post. It’s okay, though. I feel better after writing all of this. I hope you feel better after reading it.
As always, thank you for your presence here. I am sending prayers, love and light YOUR way.
Do you feel it? The excitement in the air? The seasons are about to change!
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens….
The sun is shining, the sky is a beautiful shade of Robins’ egg blue, and the fur babies are all about finding sun puddles to nap in.
I can’t say with any real confidence that winter is over. It is March after all; an old-fashioned Nor’easter could still be in the cards. I have decided not to dwell on the possibility that we may experience one last snowstorm. Instead, I’m looking forward to taking notes on the amount of sunshine that each section of our yard receives. I’m anxious to get my hands dirty with potting soil. Bring on a dripping water can! Bring on bug spray and weeding! I’m ready to start gardening!
…a time to plant and a time to uproot….
My gardening day-dreams started late last month, when I found these in a local store:
The price was right—and since none of these veggies need to be started indoors before transplanting them outside—I scooped them up. I’ll be acquiring more seeds in the weeks ahead (something other than carrots and lettuce). I hope to plant bright flowers to attract pollinators. The first summer we lived in our house, potted, red geraniums lured hummingbirds to our porch. I would love to see them again this summer!
…a time to weep and a time to laugh….
Laughter is something that I’ve been indulging in lately. The early mornings are now filled with a cheery (and sometimes loud) “morning chorus”. It’s a simple joy, but birdsong makes me smile.
Our cedar hedge is alive with songbirds, but their singing stops abruptly, whenever I open the back door for Luna. She charges out into her yard—eyeing the hedge—somehow knowing that while the birdsong has ceased, the feather-frocked singers have not simply disappeared.
This door isn’t dirty…that’s Luna’s artwork! She paints with her nose. She’d be devastated if I just wiped it all away….
It took six times of returning indoors and subsequently adventuring back out, before Luna could reconcile herself with the fact that the birds were not going to let her sniff or chase them.
…a time to search and a time to give up….
All of these signs of the coming spring, I think, are worth celebrating. Even the little things can be sources of joy and inspiration, if we let them.
A surprising addition to my seed collection arrived early last week, when I cut open a Pink Lady apple:
As a surprise, I wasn’t prepared for these little guys. I needed potting soil, containers to grow them in—but never fear! I was on my way to Target anyways to buy Tim Horton’s Coffee, and well, that impulse section was calling my name.
…a time to keep and a time to throw away… – Excerpts from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, as written in the New International Version of the Holy Bible
I have grown a sapling from a sprouted apple seed before. The sapling didn’t survive for very long—only reaching about two inches in height—but it brought me such joy to simply watch it grow. It was inspiring to see how it broke through the rind of the seed, pushed through the soil, and reached toward the sunlight.
It reminds me of a hymn from my childhood:
In the bulb, there is a flower;
In the seed, an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the snow and cold of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
-As published in The United Methodist Hymnal: Book of United Methodist Worship, “Hymn of Promise” by Natalie Sleeth
This song is, without question, one of my favorite hymns. It’s hopeful. The tune itself is rather upbeat. It makes me believe that all of these things—flowers, apple trees, butterflies and spring—are on their way.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. I hope you are recovering from the time change (I know I’m still trying to adjust). May the sunshine lift your spirits. May it inspire you to create beautiful, spring-time and summer plans.
Well, the first one. Having had cancer twice, albeit biologically the same cancer, this is a two-book project.
For this first book, I am using a journal from 2012. I will need other sources to cover 2010 – 2012. Good news is, younger me liked to journal and older me is a bit of a hoarder.
See that gray fur? That’s Alderaan curled up in my lap. He’s becoming a great writing companion.
In 2012, I was in Course V of my treatment: Maintenance. Maintenance was the last and longest course. As I read through this journal, I am astonished by the range of emotions that I experienced. Anger. Depression. Extreme Anxiety. And, then, back again—in no particular order. These entries are not particularly flattering. I question the readability of this tome. It’s serious material, though…and I don’t plan on editing anything other than spelling, grammar and names.
That’s right. Everyone involved in cancer #1—that appears in that journal—is getting a brand-new name (with the exception of my parents and brother).
Why would I want to share the contents of my personal journal?
1 – I feel as though I am being called to do so. I really do think that this is part of God’s plan for me. I mean, I had those awful experiences for a reason, right?
2 – It’s Exposure Therapy. I carry these memories with me every single day and relive them, every night, when Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) comes to call. Exposure Therapy asks the patient to confront the triggering event in hopes of slowly desensitizing him/her to it. Will it work? I guess I’ll find out….
3 – My experience might actually help someone else, someone traveling this same road. The societal norm of “grinning and bearing” it, needs to be debunked. Honesty might help some other young adult survivor to feel more comfortable with their emotions. As a cancer survivor, are you allowed to feel anger, sadness, anxiety? Yes. Absolutely. You do, however, need to dig your way out of those emotions, eventually, for your own well-being.
This attempt to document my own journey through cancer experience #1, has invoked panic. I know it is all in the past. I know it can’t hurt me anymore. Yet, it still feels real,
“fresh”, to some extent.
While working on this project, the need for levity has become apparent to me. As the adage goes, “laughter is the best medicine”.
So where can we find levity? Everywhere!
The easiest place for me to find it is by simply watching the dogs. Luna and Berkley, whenever they are outside, enjoy roughhousing. In this picture, a whispered conference has just concluded and they’re clearly “up to no good”:
Indoors, it’s Luna’s flatulence that evokes laughter. She has no shame. She’s also not one of those dogs that turns around, surprised, that she has farted. She knows what she’s doing.
Farts, in general, are often a source of amusement in our house. Yeah, it’s not exactly polite behavior, but it happens. And, sometimes, the necessary reaction is to let the dogs outside and open a window (talking about you Berkley with your “silent but deadly” farts).
I’ve never caught Alderaan farting, but I have captured some sassy-pants attitude:
Just look at that tongue sticking out!
Less smelly sources of levity include parody. This “Life is Good” t-shirt always brings a smile to my face:
It’s funny, mostly because it’s true. It is impossible to open a jar of peanut butter in this house without acquiring an audience.
I am finding, too, that gratitude has a positive impact on me while I work on this project. For instance, every morning, as the sun rises, I cannot help but be thankful for another new day.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Sometimes, it’s smaller things, like the daily calendar (featuring dogs and inspirational quotes) that a friend gave to us for Christmas. This quote, in particular, has made me reflect on life and how I live it:
“Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans.
It is lovely to be silly at the right moment.”
– Horace
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. Thank you for the prayers, light and love that you have given me over the years. I hope that each of you finds a reason to smile and laugh today.
Where did Christmas 2019 go? One minute we were decorating our tree (with our signature blend of home-made ornaments and Star Wars collectibles), and the next moment we were carrying discarded wrapping paper and boxes out to the recycling bin.
I was so excited for Christmas, and it certainly lived up to my expectations. My big present from the hubby this year was a new washing machine. I know, that may not sound overly exciting to some people, but I was thrilled to be given a machine that wasn’t going to constantly screech errors at me!
Christmas for me, and many others, though, isn’t solely about the gifts.
It’s about family—sitting at my parents’ dining room table—as my father said “Grace” over the delicious meal that my mother had prepared.
It’s about attending Christmas Eve service—listening to the readings, singing along to both new and old Christmas hymns, while the candles in the sanctuary flicker, painting the walls gold and making the windows gleam.
Christmas is about embracing church family and thanking God that, yes, I can hug these wonderful, inspiring people again! I couldn’t do that a year ago. I definitely couldn’t do it two years ago when my immune system was infantile.
Yet, here I am, with only a few days left of 2019, and I’m grateful to still be here.
There was never a guarantee that I would survive Cancer #1 or Cancer #2. Neither of those experiences were easy—this last one took a lot out of me. I’m still recovering. In fact, it’ll probably take all of 2020 to feel halfway human.
According to my oncologist, the most common complaint among allogenic transplant recipients is fatigue. It’s not the kind of fatigue that you can sleep off. Neither caffeine nor sugar will help. You simply have to endure this fatigue; sometimes miserably, and sometimes proactively with appropriate amounts of physical and mental activity.
With all of that said, I am sure that you, Dear Readers, have an inkling as to what my goals for 2020 will be.
Before I was diagnosed with Relapsed Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia in 2017, I maintained a daily, rigorous yoga practice. It was borderline Power Yoga.
As the tumor in my lumbar spine grew, I eventually lost all of the strength and flexibility that I had gained through yoga.
I’ve been taking baby-steps toward my former level of athleticism—utilizing chair yoga, restorative yoga and trauma yoga. I will continue doing these forms of yoga until I am ready for Power Yoga. By June, I intend to be doing The Wheel again!
Also, in 2020, I will keep my mind busy with a self-created reading list (comprised mostly of books that I already own but haven’t had a chance to actually read). I’ll continue learning new languages via Duo Lingo. Currently, I’m studying Norwegian. Jeg elsker det (I love it)! Additionally, I will retrain my sometimes chemo-foggy brain through dusting off my GRE practice book and revisiting vocabulary, analogy and complex mathematical lessons. Each lesson is similar to a puzzle piece—revealing parts of the old me that existed pre-cancer.
Finally, I intend to keep the Christmas spirit alive throughout the new year. The first step in this multi-faceted plan, is to leave our Christmas decorations (except, maybe, for the tree, which is already losing a superfluous number of needles) up until Epiphany. According to the Christian calendar, Epiphany is traditionally celebrated on January 6th and marks the moment when the Wisemen (aka Magi) find Jesus.
I mean, come on! It’s only December 30th! The Wisemen haven’t even made it to Bethlehem yet! The Christmas lights will glow in this house until that manger is discovered!
Of course, keeping the Christmas spirit alive involves a lot more than leaving decorations up. It requires us to practice kindness, generosity and gratitude on a daily basis. It might also take the form of small, but thoughtful, acts of friendship, such as writing letters and sending them off via snail mail. For me, part of it will consist of visiting cafes with friends—all to drink a cup of coffee and to talk awhile.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. Thank you for your prayers, love and light. I do hope that 2020 is kind to each of you!
Of Pieridae & Perras 
You must be logged in to post a comment.